15. Grae #2
“Yep. Kinsley Adams does not exist. And every quarter I get a pallet of pens. I’ve donated them to every school, hospital, charity, shelter and rehab I could find.”
Her chuckles evolve into laughter, and I get the feeling it doesn’t happen very much. It sounds almost magical but like it was a forgotten skill. It makes me smile and throw my arms up in the air.
“Hell, six years ago I tried to buy the damn company but got sniped out at the last second.” The laughter stops, and her eyes get very wide.
“What’s the company?”
“Sunshine Ink.” I add, “They’ve got amazing pens, so I’m not mad about that.”
Her laughter quakes the ground like a mighty roar. Roll after gasping roll, and now I’m laughing too. She doubles over and slides to the floor. I’m crying and my stomach hurts from the expression of joy. When it finally slows down Alana crawls into a sitting position and leans against the couch.
“Ok, I have a deal. I will not be adding more time to your contract—”
“At this moment,” I counter.
She ignores me and continues, “But I am willing to pay the bill and concede that Reykjavík isn’t the best city in the world.”
“Wait,” Hmm, alarm bells are going off. “Why, you never ever concede?”
Her laughter starts all over again. “Because if I don’t, you’ll never believe me.” She gathers her breath and starts again. “About six years ago, I got drunk and bought a pen company.”
“What!?”
“It seemed like a good business model because some asshole was constantly ordering bulk batches of pens.”
“No, stop it!”
“Sunshine Ink is now the sole provider of Grasshopper’s office supplies.
” She shakes her head in a dramatic ‘no’ fashion but winces as her hair whips her in the face.
“I swear I forgot all about the contract or that it had to be exclusively Sunshine Ink products, I just really liked the stuff. I’m so sorry. It had nothing to do with you.”
Son of a bitch.
“I don’t know how to feel right now.”
“I don’t remember the last time I laughed so hard.” She wipes away the tears.
“Hmm.” I can’t really formulate any coherent thoughts.
“But hey, you had a pen when I needed one.”
“I know! I thought it was fate, but I think the universe is just fucking with me now.” I poke at my steak that’s cooling by the second, like my mood.
I pout and watch her wipe the tears from her eyes.
Then she gets a wicked grin like she’s made a choice.
Alana crawls over to me and slides her hands up my legs. She kneels before me.
“I’m sorry, but I’ll make it up to you.”
Her hands reach my fly and slowly pull it down. Blood rushes south, and it’s not taking much to get me going. Her fingers unbutton my jeans, and she slowly pushes them along with my boxers down my thighs.
One long lick and it sends shivers through me.
I moan and all humor is gone, replaced by burning desire.
Her soft wet mouth wraps around me, and when we lock eyes, I give in to her.
She takes me deep until her head jerks back and goes again, her hand filling any space around my cock her mouth can’t.
Her eyes are still watery, although I can’t tell if it’s from gagging or laughing.
Either way, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
I made her happy. In a way she’s forgotten how to be.
That’s the only reason I can allow this.
The pressure builds as she speeds up, and I don’t know how much more I can take. Then she moans around me, and the vibrations send me over the edge. She continues the slow, slick licks just to make me twitch until I come down. Then she calmly puts my cock back into my pants and zips it up.
“Go eat your dinner, before it gets cold,” I say, in a thick hoarse voice. I wanted to make her dinner, give her more, but instead she gave me more than I deserve.
In a rare moment of compliance, she does exactly what she’s told and slides back into her seat.
My racing nerves settle as she slices her steak with her knife and visibly savors every bite.
Her shoulders relax, and she makes little happy noises.
Those are my favorite sounds, and I want to hear her make them for the rest of her life.
The rest of my life. But she won’t let me; not if I don’t keep her satisfied.
The weight on my chest slowly grows heavier, like three elephants sitting on my ribs. I need her to stay. Oblivious to my inner turmoil, she moves from the meat to the vegetables and shimmies her shoulders.
“I never eat like this unless I’m at a restaurant.”
“Why not?”
“Too much work. Cereal is faster and easier.” She pops a tiny potato in her mouth. “But I feel like I’ve been missing out.”
I almost say she doesn’t have to miss out, that I could treat her right every day. But she knows that. Instead, I eat and try to ignore the mounting panic I feel. It takes six hundred years for her to finish her dinner. Somewhere around the three hundredth year, I realize she’s doing it on purpose.
“How are you holding up?” She asks, catching on.
“I’m fine.” Her side-eye and the huff under her breath tell me she knows I’m lying.
After clearing the plates, I lead her into the living room and sit on my couch.
As soon as my fingers touch her skin the pressure wains, the knot in my chest loosening.
When my lips brush against hers, the pounding in my ears slows to a four beat.
Each kiss calms me further. I can keep her for as long as I can satisfy her, and this is the first stage in doing that.
She slowly helps remove her shirt as I kiss down her neck and breasts. But as my lips move lower to her stomach, she tenses under my touch. It’s almost a flinch. I can’t see any injury, but there has to be something below the surface.
“Are you ok?”
“It hurts.”
“I’ll stop.” I pull away, but she reaches for me and touches my hair.
“No. I want to feel something other than the pain.” A surge goes through me. I can do that. I will always do that for her, if she’ll let me.
I lay softer kisses across the smooth skin of her stomach, paying special attention until I work further south and ease down her pants.
My fingers search her core and the growing dampness between her legs.
Once her body is bare on my couch, my lips wrap about her center and her moans encourage more.
More and faster, building her to a crest until she cries out.
Then I use my finger, curving it, until I find that spot while kissing that tender part on her stomach again.
She digs her nails into my hair. The pain focuses me, and if I wasn’t already consumed by her pleasure, nothing else could distract me.
Her body quakes as she cries out. Her shoulder lifts off the arm rest and slams down with every violent pleasure. Two for one. I’ll take that.
The anxiety leaves my chest fully as I hold her in the afterglow. But as content as I am, her shoulder is red and scratched up. Fucking couch. I should’ve taken her to bed.
“Going down on me on a couch, how very high school,” she says with a satisfied grin.
“Let’s get you some place more comfortable.” Despite all my efforts, I still managed to hurt her. I’m starting to see why she only wants fourteen days with me.